"Aye, Leerie. Real name, Sheila O'Leary--as good a name as Hennessy. But they named her Leerie her probation year. In course she's Irish an' not Scotch, an' I never heard tell of a lass afore that went 'round a-lightin' street lamps, but for all that the name fits. Ye mind grown-ups an' childher alike watch for her to come 'round." "A nurse," repeated Peter, dully. "Aye. An' she come back three days since, Heaven be praised! afther bein' gone three years." "Three years," repeated Peter again. "Why was she gone three years?" Hennessy eyed him narrowly for a moment. "A lot of blitherin' fools sent her away, that's what, an' she not much more than graduated. Suspension, they called it." "Suspension for what?" The shirring in Hennessy's lips tightened, and he drew his breath in and out in a sort of asthmatic whistle. This was the only sign of emotion ever betrayed by Hennessy. When he spoke again he fairly whistled his words. "If ye want to know what for--ye can ask some one else. Good night." And with a bang to the platter Hennessy was away before Peter could stop him. Alone with the swans, Peter lingered a moment to consider. A nurse. The gray person a nurse! And sent away for some--some--Peter's mind groped inadequately for a reason. Pshaw! He could smile at the absurdity of his interest. What did it matter--or she matter--or anything matter? For a man who has been given up, who has been sent away to a sanitarium to finish with life as speedily and decently as he can, to stand on one leg by a pond, for all the world like a swan himself, and wonder about a girl he had seen but once, in a sanitarium omnibus, was absurd. And the name Leerie? Of course they had taken it from Stevenson, but it suited. Yes, Hennessy was right, it certainly suited. A rustle of white skirts coming down the path attracted his attention. It was his nurse, through supper, coming like a commandant to take him in charge. Thirty-seven, in a sanitarium, with a nurse attendant! Peter groaned inwardly. It was monstrous, a cowardly, blackguard attack of an unthinking Creator on a human being--a decent human being--who might be--who wanted to be--of some use in the world. For a breath he wanted to roar forth blasphemy after blasphemy against the universe and its Maker, but in the next breath he suddenly realized how little he cared. With a smile almost tragically senile, he let the nurse lead him away.